


These Strange Series of Events

by itsmeliz



Series: These Strange Series of Events [2]
Category: Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: Elizabeth is Sherlock Holmes, F/M, Gen, I finished a thing, Look Ma, Mr. Bennet is Mycroft, Murder Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-10-10 10:18:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17424020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsmeliz/pseuds/itsmeliz
Summary: Mr. Darcy is not sure how the local magistrate has come to this conclusion. Luckily, Elizabeth can explain how.





	These Strange Series of Events

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AMarguerite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AMarguerite/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Mr. Bennet: Local Magistrate](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17344001) by [AMarguerite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AMarguerite/pseuds/AMarguerite). 



> I blame too many episodes of Sherlock, and Elementary, as well as AMarguerite who writes the best Mr. Bennet I've ever seen.

Mr. Hurst was dead. Of that, Mr. Darcy could be sure, as he had checked the body himself. That Mr. Hurst had drowned in the punch bowl after squirting himself in the eye and subsequently knocking himself unconscious against the chimney piece was so fantastic as to be unbelievable, except that Mr. Bennet - local principle landowner and magistrate - had declared it to be the unfortunate circumstance of Mr. Hurst's death.

The living Netherfield residents expressed their incredulity.

"Good God, sir!" exclaimed Mr. Bingley. "How could you come to such a conclusion?"

"Yes." said Mr. Darcy, jaw set. "How?"

To add to these strange series of events, Mr. Bennet then focused his attention not on the Netherfield residents, but instead on his own daughter who was examining the room with a thoughtful look on her pretty face. "Lizzy, my dear, you know my habits well. Could you perhaps reason how Mr. Hurst came to be in such a predicament?"

This was beyond what Mr. Darcy could accept. "Sir, -" he said, "we cannot walk back the day to prevent Miss Elizabeth from seeing a sight such as this, but surely you do not wish for her to think about such a topic?" Mrs. Bennet echoed his protests and added her own: Mr. Bennet, it seemed, was determined to make their second daughter as odd as himself, and as Miss Elizabeth had been unfortunate enough to have been born a daughter instead of a son, there was no use to her knowing how a man came to be drowned in a punch bowl.

"On the contrary," said Mr. Bennet, "I would prefer that my daughters avoid drowning in punch bowls, if they can, and if Lizzy could reason how Mr. Hurst has done so, she and her sisters might be able to avoid such an ignoble fate."

"Oh, how you vex me, Mr. Bennet! How could Lizzy know?" Mrs. Bennet wailed. "Oh, you are so clever, but how is anyone else to know if you would not tell us? Lizzy cannot know!" 

"I believe, Papa, that you first saw the dent in the chimney piece?" said Miss Elizabeth, evidently tired of people talking _of her_ instead of _to_ her.

"Quite right, my dear. What of it?"

"It is of a height with Mr. Hurst, when he was alive, and," she looked carefully at the damaged chimney, "there is a spot of red there."

"Why, it's blood!" exclaimed Bingley, examining the chimney piece himself.

"Oh, blood!" cried Mrs. Bennet. That blood should be on the walls of such a fine house as Netherfield was too much for that lady, and she threatened to swoon. Bingley was then obligated to fetch one of the footmen who waited outside the door, to dispatch Mrs. Bennet to a sitting room so that she might be calm and recover - far away, if possible, from where Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley were still dressing. Darcy and Bingley were both for glad for the first time of Bingley's sisters' habit of arriving last to dinner.

"A dent in the chimney piece and a spot of blood only signify that someone was injured there," said Darcy, when Bingley returned, "not that it was Mr. Hurst."

"Yes, but Mr. Bingley is half a head shorter than Mr. Hurst, and you, Mr. Darcy, are half a head taller. There are no other members of this household who are of that height, and we have not heard of any other guests who have been injured here, nor any of the servants. Indeed, they are far too conscientious to have left blood on the wall, and to not have cleaned it immediately afterwards. I must conclude that it was damaged quite recently, and that it was the site of one of Mr. Hurst's injuries."

Darcy was forced to agree that it was unlikely Nichols would make such an oversight, or, as Darcy thought privately, that Miss Bingley would not loudly insist that any imperfections to her brother's home be fixed immediately.

"Was there blood on the back of Mr. Hurst's head?" asked Miss Elizabeth.

Bingley took a step to examine his brother-in-law.

"Miss Elizabeth, there is no need for you to see this," Darcy said.

"I assure you, Mr. Darcy, that the sight of blood will not make me faint."

Mr. Bennet could barely be heard as he muttered to himself in the corner that with five daughters, the sight of blood was very common to his girls.

Darcy ignored Mr. Bennet, and focused on Miss Elizabeth as had become his habit since she came to Netherfield. "It is not necessary for you to see his injury, however. I can attest that Mr. Hurst had suffered a small blow to the back of his head." He held up his hand, to show that two fingers of his glove had been stained red. "This is why I called for a bow street runner, and why I still suspect murder."

"Yes, but you say it was a small blow," said Miss Elizabeth. "His skull was not cracked in any way?"

"We should have a doctor confirm, but I do not believe it was cracked."

"And is there anything else in this room that is wet with blood, or perhaps missing?"

Bingley and Darcy took a turn around the room, and confirmed that all was clean, and in place.

"That only strengthens my belief that it was an accident."

"Does it?" asked Darcy, much surprised. "That Mr. Hurst hit his head on the chimney piece, I can now agree, but how do we know he was not pushed, or pulled back sharply? I have seen other men injured in such a way."

"Mr. Bingley," Miss Elizabeth turned to the master of the house. "do you not agree that Mr. Hurst was a fashionable man?"

"Why yes," said Bingley. "He was not as fastidious as Darcy, but he always looked well when coming down to dinner. What has it to do with anything?"

"Other than being wet, Mr. Hurst's clothes are still as neat as I'm sure they were when he was dressed by his valet."

"A very well-groomed corpse," opined Mr. Bennet.

"As I understand, sirs, that when men fight, there is usually quite a bit of damage to their clothing. I have seen my friends mend the rips in their brothers' shirts when they have had scuffles, and all the cloth was very wrinkled, besides. Has this been your experience?"

"Though I have not engaged in fisticuffs in some years, I am ashamed that I must agree," said Bingley. Darcy said nothing, but nodded solemnly. Bingley looked at Hurst once more. "Why his cravat isn't even loose!"

"He could have been taken by surprise, though," said Darcy. "Mr. Hurst would have been very easily overpowered, had he been accosted, and then drowned in the punch bowl."

"Yes, but don't you see?" said Miss Elizabeth, beginning to pace about the room. "The table is far too neat, and too close to the fireplace."

Darcy looked at the tableau again, and an idea began to form. Miss Elizabeth stopped in front of the fireplace and gestured gracefully to the small space where Hurst had been found.

"I do not get your meaning!" cried Bingley.

"Do you mean, Miss Elizabeth, that had Mr. Hurst been accosted, the table settings would be far more disturbed than we see now?"

"Indeed, Mr. Darcy!" though the subject of their conversation was very grim, Miss Elizabeth's eyes were bright with intelligence. "See now, though Mr. Hurst was clearly in the middle of punch preparation, all cups, saucers, and spoons are laid out as neatly as I'm sure the servants left it?"

Other than being wet from a splash of punch, the table was laid out with the mathematical symmetry that Miss Bingley demanded.

"If Hurst had been awake," said Darcy, "he would have struggled, and disturbed the table."

"And his hair," added Mr. Bennet.

"Yes, he always took care of his hair," said Bingley.

"I see now as you do," Darcy said. "Mr. Hurst was not conscious when he was in the punch."

"And," continued Miss Elizabeth, "there is too little room for any fight to have happened between the table and the chimney piece as to leave the table so clean. Even if Mr. Hurst had been grabbed by the arm or hand, he would have twisted and hit his head on the temple or forehead. He would not have landed so precisely in the punch bowl."

"What if someone had rearranged all that he disturbed?" asked Bingley.

"I do not believe so, sir," said Miss Elizabeth. "I do not believe it worth the risk of discovery to do something that would take so long."

"And why would one do so?" asked Mr. Bennet. "If there was a way to determine a murderer's identity through a smudge on the glass, I would know of it."

"But what of the lemon?" asked Bingley. "Mr. Bennet, you said that Hurst had been squirted in the eye by a lemon before he died."

Mr. Bennet turned to his daughter. "Elizabeth, my dear," he said fondly. "You know how we all dislike incomplete tales."

Miss Elizabeth turned her head slightly to the side and looked at the table again, then at Hurst, and then at the lemon rind on the floor.

"I believe, Mr. Bingley, that the answer lies in the method of punch preparation."

Mr. Bennet looked much satisfied by his daughter's proclamation.

"As my father said, he has had this punch before. I have prepared it for him myself, and to add the sugar is the final step, to balance the sour."

Darcy lifted the porcelain lid of the sugar bowl. "It is still full. I do not think any was taken from it."

"Mr. Hurst was still adding lemon to the drink before he died. He was left-handed, was he not?"

Mr. Bingley agreed to this.

"The pile of spent lemons is all to the left side of the table, and as the press is unused, I believe he juiced everything by hand. His left glove would be damp, and smelling of citrus."

Bingley knelt, lifted Hurst's hand carefully, and agreed.

"Squeezing the lemons by hand is likely the last thing Mr. Hurst did, before he died. See how this rind is on the floor, left of the table? He placed all the other spent lemons carefully in a pile - this one he dropped. The skin around one or both of his eyes should be red."

Darcy and Bingley could both see that the red around Mr. Hurst's eyes were among the last bit of colour in that man's face. It seemed that there was no need for the bow street runners after all.

Darcy sighed. "Mr. Bennet, and Miss Elizabeth, I must agree with you. As unlikely as it seems, it does appear that Mr. Hurst squirted himself in the eye with lemon, hit his head on the chimney piece, and drowned in the punch. Thank you for explaining your reasoning."

"Well, Lizzy!" said Mr. Bennet, "I do not believe I needed to leave my book room for this, but it is gratifying to see one's daughter take so to her lessons. I now rest easy in the knowledge that my daughters may prepare punch in safety." He then turned to Mr. Bingley. "I believe, sir, that I hear your sisters coming down to dinner. If you wish, I will tell Mrs. Hurst of her husband's death."

"No!" Bingley cried. He coughed. "Er, no, thank you. That will not be necessary. Darcy, if you would please take Caroline to the library? Tell her I will talk to her after I have finished speaking with Louisa. Mr. Bennet, Miss Elizabeth," he paused, unsure of what to say. "Thank you. I do not think anyone else would have been able to reason this, and I am grateful you have done so. Though I am sad that Mr. Hurst has died, I am relieved that he has not been murdered. One of the footmen will see you to the same sitting room as Mrs. Bennet - I am sure you would want to check on her." With that, the master of Netherfield turned to walk to his sisters, to inform the eldest that she was now a widow. 

Darcy bowed to Mr. Bennet and his daughter, and followed his friend to Miss Bingley, who was glad to take his arm. Darcy allowed Miss Bingley her pleasure - it would be her last piece of happiness for the night.

-

"Papa, are we very certain that Mr. Hurst was not murdered?" murmured Elizabeth to her father as they walked down the hall, away from where Mr. Bingley was sharing unhappy news. "I do not believe I saw any signs, but if we missed something ...?"

"My dear Lizzy," said her father, clasping her hand, "I can assure you that Mr. Hurst was neither rich enough to be killed for money, nor offensive enough to be killed for spite. No one would murder him for love of his wife - who is not clever enough to arrange a murder herself - and he was far too dull to be the subject of intrigue." 

"Papa! You are very cruel to him, sir."

"Do not think I am unfeeling, Lizzy; I simply state the truth. Sadly, he was too unremarkable to be the subject of a murder, or for that murder to be staged as an accident. I feel pity for the poor man - his remarkably silly death will be the most interesting thing about him, now." Mr. Bennet turned his eye to Lizzy. "I noticed, as well, what you did not share with out hosts: that it would have been easier and more convenient to murder Mr. Hurst with the knife at the table instead of such a roundabout method of death."

"Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy have both had such a shock tonight - I did not feel the need to burden them with such knowledge." Elizabeth looked at the floor as her slippers whispered down the hall.

Mr. Bennet nodded. "Yes, it can be a weight. We can at least take comfort knowing Mr. Hurst's death was painless."

"Poor Mr. Hurst," murmured Elizabeth.

"Yes, the poor man did not even have a chance to enjoy his punch, before he had too much of it. It is a sad fate, indeed."

**Author's Note:**

> So, obviously I feel that Mr. Bennet = Mycroft Holmes, and Elizabeth Bennet = Sherlock. I'm pretty sure Mr. Bingley is Watson at this point, with Mr. Darcy being ... Lestrade? Maybe?


End file.
